Picture In My Pocket
by 123Quarters
Summary: Hermione's had a crush on him since third year when she saw his picture in a magazine. He's had it rough the past year or so, and at the moment all he wants is whatever anyone'll give him.
1. Chapter 1

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

A Bill/Hermione Story

Her infatuation had started when she saw his picture in a magazine, waving up at her, one freckled redhead among many. She'd secretly filched the _Daily Prophet_from Harry, cutting out the picture of the Weasley family and then, feeling awkward having them _all_staring at her when she only wanted to see _him,_she had simply cut the rest of the family out of the picture. The photograph-Weasleys hadn't liked that very much, the twins giving her rude hand signals before dodging out of the way of her scissors, Mrs. Weasley appearing to yell in fright before dragging a young Ginny out of harm's way. Finally, after carefully smoothing the edges of the newspaper clipping down by magic, she'd beamed down shyly at her work. To her secret delight, _he'd_ grinned right back at her, hands thrust deep in his pockets as he stood tall in his now-solitary portrait.

And he'd continued grinning back at her every time she looked at the little photo over the years until, finally, she'd gotten to meet him in person. The summer before her fourth year, it happened. The Quidditch World Cup, which had originally held little interest for her, seemed to spark like a glowing beacon on her calendar once she found out that _he_was coming. She'd not talked to him much; her tongue seemed to grow heavy when she considered anything she might like to say to him. Anytime he was in the tent, she would burry her face deeper in a book, but she would watch him over the top of the pages.

She'd seen him again during the Triwizard Tournament, when he'd visited Hogwarts with Mrs. Weasley. He seemed to grow wilder and wilder every time she saw him: his hair a bit longer, a few more scars on his hands from that fascinating curse-breaking job. She dated Viktor Krum. When he kissed her, she pictured a tan, freckled man with a red ponytail and a dragon tooth earring. Then things like silly crushes had been stamped out of her head entirely-

Voldemort had returned. Harry was attacked by dementors, Death Eaters were returning to their master in droves. Surely, Hermione had greater things to worry about than silly, unreturned crushes on older Weasleys.

That summer, however, before her fifth year, had marked her move to the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. And as she found out, a lot of very interesting people stopped by headquarters. If she stayed up just late enough, sneaking to the staircase just in time, she could catch a glimpse of a tall, muscular, red-headed figure stepping through the front door, and her heart would beat a little faster for a moment or two…

And then the world had gone to hell, and everything had been destroyed. The horcruxes, Voldemort, all those lives, and, as well, his beautiful face.

He'd never liked to admit that he was vain, because most of the time he wasn't. At least, he'd been pretty sure he wasn't. Now, every damn time he looked in the mirror, all he could see were those hideous scars on his face. It had been all _she_could see, as well, after a while. He'd appreciated it immensely, her sticking around to massage his ego as long as she could, but he couldn't really blame her when she finally had to up-and-leave.

When you're asked to marry a handsome banker and suddenly he turns into a mutilated half-werewolf, it was understandable, he reasoned, to panic.

_Very fucking understandable indeed,_he thought bleakly before tossing back another shot of firewhiskey, feeling his blood boil like a tea-kettle. Drinking had become something of a Weasley pastime these days.

Drinking and fucking, he amended hazily, watching with blurred interest as a questionably attractive witch gave him a bit of the _eye_ from across the bar. Yes, if there was one good thing about being partially a werewolf, one _single_damn good thing, it was the fucking.

Bill thought it had something to do with the animalistic nature of werewolves, because just like real wolves they mainly thought about three things: eating, fighting, and mating. Food was easy to come by in a city like London, even if you took your steaks a bit rare. Fights were easier still as there were still a fair amount of cursed tombs with mummies and things in them that he was obligated to explore. But he was a bit hard-up for the mating portion of his desires these days.

The only fucking problem was getting a decent enough looking witch to give you more than just the once-over once she realized you looked like you'd gotten on the wrong end of one of those damned Muggle lawnmowers. Bill grimaced, throwing back another shot, as the witch caught a good look at the mangled side of his face and gasped before turning her attention to a more wholesome wizard further along the bar.

_Fuck it_, Bill hissed, feeling the wolfish blood in him boil with irritation and alcohol. _Just fuck everything._

Then he spotted someone across the bar who made that statement sound like a _very_ good idea, and, best of all, she was smiling shyly at him, unaware or unconcerned with the scars running the length of his face. Suddenly, Bill's blood felt warm, alcohol or no alcohol, and he permitted himself to grin impishly back at her.

If the wolfblood coursing through his body had anything to do with it, his dry streak was about to be over.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

… _a chapter in which someone Disapparates_

Every fucking day was the same.

Wake up, feel like shit, wait out his hangover. Find food, find alcohol, find more alcohol, and finally find so much alcohol that he didn't have hope of finding much of anything else.

Bill wasn't stupid. In fact, his twelve O.W.L.'s argued that he was anything but. He knew that sleeping with any willing woman that crossed his path was the _wrong_thing to do, not only for his physical and emotional well-being, but also for the safety of the women involved.

When he woke up the next morning in some flat he'd never seen with no one around, he felt a stab of regret for what he knew must have happened. He'd probably scared that poor girl to death last night, snarling at her while he fucked her like some heartless beast.

_Well,_ said that dark, growling voice in the back of his mind, _that's what you are._

Grabbing his clothes off the floor and pulling them on roughly, he turned quickly on the spot and vanished.

He went to the one place he knew he could find alcohol fast- his old room at the Burrow.

Hermione was torn in her feelings for the Burrow since the war's end. It was a reminder, in some ways, of the happiest times of her life. She'd loved feeling like a part of the Weasley family, loved the nights spent whispering with Ginny, the days spent exploring with Harry and Ron.

But she wasn't a child anymore.

The Burrow now reminded her that she didn't have any family of her own, looking at Ron reminded her that they'd all come _that_ close to death, _that_close to failure. Just listening to the eerie silence reminded her that there was no more "Fred and George", there was no more waiting on owls to arrive and whisk her off to Hogwarts where the only thing to worry about was passing exams.

The end of the war had brought peace to the world at large, but emptiness to the lonely witch known as Hermione Granger.

_This_room, though, wasn't quite as depressing as the others. It looked like the rest of the Burrow, an explosion of mismatched furniture and odd magical household items, but it felt different. Hermione felt very at home here, alone in _his_ old room reading the Muggle books she'd found on the dusty bookshelf in the corner.

"Hermione, dear, it's almost time for lunch!" Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs, and Hermione jumped, dropping the book on the bed beside her. It was so easy to forget that she wasn't the only person in the house nowadays.

"I'll be down in a moment!" Hermione called back, her voice sounding like nothing more than a faint echo down the stairs.

She slid off of the bed, heading for the dresser that now contained all of her own clothes. Time went by in strange lurches, and she spent most of her days sitting in her pajamas until lunchtime. It felt like it took a great effort to hunt through the neatly folded clothes, pull out a pair of blue jeans and an old sweater, but she managed. Taking off her pajamas felt like it took all of the energy in the entire world, but she managed that, too. It left her tired though, so she stood still a moment, one hand on the dresser for support and the other clutching the blue jeans to her stomach.

This happened sometimes. Her head would spin and she would feel an overwhelming sense of panic, but be entirely too tired to move a muscle.

_It's your awful eating habits_, she scolded herself, knowing that it was mostly true.

Since the hunt for the horcruxes and her stint in captivity, eating had become a very strange thing for Hermione. Her weight constantly fluctuated- one month she would fill herself with all the food she could hold, terrified of being left to starve again. The next month she would barely touch food at all, feeling sick at the thought of putting a single scrap in her mouth.

_The war is over_, she reminded herself firmly, feeling her dizziness slowly begin to die away. She pulled the jeans on, having to unshrink them a bit to get them to go over her hips. Currently, she was in one of the "eat as much as possible" phases.

As she reached for her sweater, there was a loud _pop _behind her.

* * *

_**A/N:**_Wow, I'm used to writing on Fiction Press where you have to sell your firstborn for reviews. It was great to get so many within a day of having something posted! This story is turning into an awful mess:P I have no idea what I'm doing at all. But we'll see how it turns out. I have a vague idea of what happens next, but we'll see if it works out when I actually go to write it.

Anyway thanks for the reviews, favs, and alerts! You're all wonderful!


	3. Chapter 3

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...in which they are both caught by surprise._

She stares at him, the sweater held loosely in her limp hands, her mouth open in a tiny "o". He stares back, his eyes just as wide. He's aware, painfully, intensely aware, that she isn't wearing a shirt. There's the smell of adrenaline rolling off of her in waves because obviously he'd caught her off guard and she was fucking terrified.

His blood feels like it's on fire, because it's been so long, _so damn long_, since he's been with a woman while he was sober. His hands are shaking, so he slips them in his pockets and forces his face into an apologetic smile. He can tell the smile is all wrong though; he can feel how very wolfish and hungry it must look to her.

"Sorry, there. Didn't know they'd given you this room," he says, and curses the way his voice sounds. He wanted to sound friendly and charming, not like someone who was about to give her a good roll in the hay.

Her eyes widen a bit more, and suddenly her cheeks are bright red. He can't help but notice that the blush spreads down her neck and across her chest as well. His eyes drift to her breasts against his will, and he's fascinated by how quickly they rise and fall with her alarmed breathing. She notices his gaze, and in a flash, faster than he'd ever thought she could move, the sweater that had been in her hands was on her body, covering herself from his wild eyes.

He feels awful, dirty, but at the same time he feels exhilarated. Beneath the adrenaline which was now starting to fade, there was something else. He could just faintly catch the smell with his heightened senses, but it was there.

"Sorry again, for barging in like that," he says, turning away and heading for a certain loose floorboard that held that amber-colored liquid from the gods themselves. "I don't like using the front door much. Can't stand the way the lot of them look at me anymore, you see."

He's rambling, trying to brush off the intensity in the room.

She hasn't moved yet.

He pulls up the floorboard and grabs the bottle that would keep him from having to think about any of this, or of anything else, for a good while, and then shoves the floorboard back in place. She's still staring at him, her arms loosely wrapped around her own stomach.

"Right, then, I'll just be-" he starts to say, ready to disapparate and leave the poor girl alone. Then he sees the book thrown carelessly on her bed- _his_bed- and he stops mid-turn.

Her eyes finally leave him to find the source of his distraction.

There's a brief pause, then-

"It's a very good book, isn't it?" she says quietly, her voice shaking a bit.

His eyes snap to her, but she isn't looking at him.

"I'd read it once before," she continues, speaking to the book rather than him, "when I was eleven."

At this, he actually laughs, and the sound surprises them both. She looks in his eyes, and he wishes she hadn't. Every muscle in his body strains against his mind, trying to force him to do something he'll very much regret. Luckily he's always had a very strong mind. He grins at her again, and tries to ignore how her breath hitches in her throat.

"You read that book when you were _eleven_?" he demands, trying to keep his voice light.

Suddenly, she looks defensive, and he likes that. He likes that she isn't scared of him.

"What's wrong with that?" she throws back at him, her arms now crossed tightly over her chest.

"Nothing," he says truthfully. "I'm just a bit surprised. I didn't manage that book until I was well in my third year at Hogwarts."

"That's only two years difference," she points out, and he likes that, too.

They both freeze when they hear footsteps coming up the stairs out in the hallway. His mother's voice calls through the door, "Hermione, dear, are you alright? I thought I heard voices!"

He pleads with her silently, his eyes begging her not to give him away. She looks away from him, down to the floor, and answers, "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, just talking to myself about that piece I'm writing for the _Prophet_."

Mrs. Weasley is satisfied, and she tells Hermione to hurry down to lunch or it'll all be cold. They listen as she descends the stairs, and it is all quiet again.

"I better get going," he says suddenly, clutching the bottle a bit tighter in his hand, as if to remind himself that the magic inside it is all he really needs.

She looks at him, and he likes that, too. Likes how her deep brown eyes don't avoid the scars on his face.

"You should visit them sometime," she says, and he almost laughs again. It's so very _her _to be telling him what he should do. "They miss you."

He wants to tell her that he'd rather never walk into that kitchen again, never see how his family had been ripped apart, but he doesn't. All he says is, "Yeah, I just might."

And then there's a loud _pop_, and he's gone.

* * *

_**A/N:**__It may just be the Spring semester stress getting to me, but has anyone else noticed that the acronym for this story would be P.I.M.P.? Because I just did, and I laughed a good bit about that. Oh dear, I'm beginning to crack already:/ So early in the semester, too!_

_Ah, well._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...a chapter in which Hermione is uncharacteristically silent._

Hermione isn't sure why she doesn't tell Mrs. Weasley that her oldest son had just apparated and disapparated right out from under her nose. She'd like to think it was because the knowledge that he stopped by without saying hello to his mum would kill her, but she has a feeling that isn't it.

"How's your article coming along, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks, sitting across the large table from Hermione and stirring her onion soup slowly.

Hermione jumps a bit, and Mrs. Weasley frowns in concern. The poor girl was so on edge, ever since the war.

"Oh, it's going fairly well. I'm waiting on an owl from Harry so I can finish it up," she answers, lifting soup into her mouth and wishing she'd let it cool off a bit more.

"It's wonderful, what you're doing!" Mrs. Weasley gushes. "Everyone is still so shocked that it's all over, giving them a weekly rundown of Harry and the Minister's doings is just so comforting!"

Hermione smiles and they continue the meal with friendly banter over the state of everything and anything.

"Ginny'll be home in a week for winter holidays!" Mrs. Weasley says suddenly, and Hermione brightens up instantly. The idea of having Ginny around is enough to make her positively cry with relief. Someone to _really_talk to.

"And then I expect Charlie and Ron will be back not too long after that," Mrs. Weasley continued, her eyes glowing at the thought of having her children back in her house.

Hermione forces her smile to stay in place. Mrs. Weasley doesn't notice the strain.

"George is supposed to stop by tonight, too. And Arthur and Percy will be back any day from that assignment in America." Hermione notices her voice break, and suddenly feels terrible. How had she not realized how lonely Mrs. Weasley would be? Her family was scattered in the wind, and here was Hermione, the only other person steadily in the Burrow, hiding herself away in her bedroom. Feeling intensely guilty, Hermione searches around for anything to say, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Have you heard from Bill?"

It was the wrong thing to say, and Hermione knew it before it even came out of her mouth. Mrs. Weasley's eyes grew brighter and a bit misty as she shook her head.

"No, I'm afraid he still- there still hasn't been any word from him for quite a few months. It's very sweet of you to ask, though, dear."

_Very selfish_, Hermione corrects her mentally, but Mrs. Weasley isn't done.

"He's always been so…so _obsessed_ with being perfect, you know. Not like Percy, not to become successful. He just wanted to… to make it up to the entire world, I think."

"Make what up?" Hermione can't help but ask, fascinated against her will. All those nights of staring at his picture, of watching him grinning with his arm around his mum's shoulder at Christmas, all of it came flooding back to her.

Mrs. Weasley's face looked heart-broken suddenly. "He always… I think he took it very hard that Arthur and I had so many children after him. I think he believed that we thought he wasn't good enough, and that's why we had Charlie and Percy and the rest." She smiled sadly. "It sounds foolish, doesn't it? Probably the only foolish thought the brilliant man has ever had in his whole life."

"I…I feel sure he'll be in touch with you soon, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione answered quietly, unable to look into Mrs. Weasley's face when she smiled at her with that look-_you're only saying that to make me feel better, dear._

Hermione sat in her room- his room- less than an hour later, wondering how _anyone _could ever think that William Weasley wasn't good enough.

* * *

_**A/N:**_Goodness! So many offers to help! I love everybody! Okay, even if I haven't messaged you, there's a chance I might in the future if I need more opinions! I've reached a difficult point where I've got a load of exams happening all at the same time, but fear not! I have pre-written the next few chapters!

Now that I'm done being silly, once again, thanks so much for the reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...in which Bill is momentarily sober._

His hands haven't stopped shaking, and the bottle of firewhiskey sits unopened a good three feet away, a rare occurrence. He tries to run his hands through his hair, only to remember that he'd chopped off his signature ponytail months ago. All he succeeds in doing is making the shaggy hair he has left stand on end.

For the first time in a long time, he realizes what a mess he must look, but he doesn't want to go look in a mirror. His flat is dark, and he keeps it that way for a reason. No one can see him, and best of all, he can't see himself.

But he can see her every time he closes his eyes.

The corners of his mouth twitch up as he remembers her defensive posture when he questioned her about that book- that bloody book he'd _barely_made it through when he was thirteen.

_The Combined, Complete, and Unabridged Works of William Shakespeare._

He shakes his head, laughing inside, and then aloud, too. Hermione Granger, reading that bit of Muggle "treasure" that his dad had given him as a tenth birthday present, along with a huge assortment of other Muggle books.

It was just too much.

Here was one more person in this world who was better than him. It wasn't just his family then, constantly managing to outstrip him. Charlie was braver, Percy was more successful, the twins had been funnier, Ron had been central in the defeat of the greatest dark wizard of all time, and Ginny was more attractive. And now Hermione Granger had pulled away the one thing he'd had- she was smarter than him. The only thing he'd ever held over his siblings, and he'd just lost it to the witch who was, for all the world, as good as his sister.

Something in him was immediately repulsed by that thought. _His sister_.

No, there was nothing _brotherly_ about the way he'd practically shagged her with his eyes right there in his old bedroom. Something in him, some part of him that had been latent all his life until that bite from Fenrir, had broken loose, and there'd been nothing more he wanted in his entire life than to fuck Hermione fucking Granger right there on the bed he'd slept in until he was eighteen years old.

Something about her brought the wolf clearly to the forefront of his mind, made it impossible for him to push back those animal tendencies.

He ran his shaking hands through his hair again, trying to clear the hazy wolf-thoughts from his mind. It was difficult to concentrate when the wolf took over, difficult to find Bill in all the wildness and unpredictability, but if he tried hard enough he could manage.

_You should visit them sometime_, she'd said.

He tried not to think about what visiting would mean- being near her again. Instead, he focused on thinking about his mum, who'd slaved her whole life to that ravenous horde that'd been born after him. He knew that he'd been the only one to really appreciate any of her work. He was, after all, the only one that had seen her before the rest of them came along. She'd been so bright then, so pretty. After Charlie, with each progressive child, all she became was more shrewish and tired and _mum_.

Irritated at what he knew he had to do now, Bill set to work on a quick letter. He scribbled it hastily before sealing it and calling his old barn owl to him. It came hesitantly, and Bill cursed Fenrir for the billionth time since that damned night. Even the owl could tell the difference in him, feel the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

He tied the scroll to its leg before sending it off to the Burrow and finally getting around to that firewhiskey he had put off for far too long.

* * *

_**A/N:**_Ah! Thanks so much to _XPlainJaneX_ and _Character Death_ for talking me through some of the finer points of Bill's werewolf problem and the dreaded _book._I couldn't decide what to do, but we basically settled on Shakespeare. It's not like the book is the make-or-break point right? But don't expect Romeo and Juliet quotes to go flying around anytime soon, either.

Alright, once again, thanks for the amazing reviews! Let me know what you think, what you feel, what you don't like! I'm all ears.

Mostly.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...in which letters are received.

* * *

_

Mrs. Weasley was beside herself with frantic joy when Hermione entered the kitchen a few days later. There were pots boiling away on every burner, and a massive raw roast resting in a solution that smelled deliciously of rosemary. Before she could even open her mouth to ask the occasion, Mrs. Weasley cut her off.

"Oh, Hermione dear, can you set the table for six? I've just gotten the most _wonderful_- oh, well you just won't _believe_ what came with the post!" Molly babbled on, still waving her wand in every direction to send spoons stirring, fires heating, knives chopping.

Hermione caught sight of two opened letters on thee counter and then a third addressed to herself. She grabbed that one and tore it open, reading quickly as she waved her own wand to start the plates zooming towards the table.

_Dear Hermione, _

_ You won't believe what's been going on these days abroad. I've just left Romania where I spent a week with Charlie and Ron(they both say hello, and that they can't wait to see you and the rest of their family over the holidays). This team of aurors I'm training with, they're just brilliant. They can do things I'd never even dreamed of, and they're all some of the smartest people I've met in my life! Except you, of course._

_ Now, information you can share in your PotterWatch article:_

_ We've apprehended a gang of three ex-Death Eaters that had been hiding out near an all-wizarding village, attempting to recruit followers. It's amazing how these people never give up. They leaked us a bit of information that they were in contact with another group in Britain, so I may be coming back to visit the Burrow a lot sooner than expected .I'll send another owl in a day or so with a detailed report on everything we've found out. Be on the lookout for that! _

_ Tell everyone I said hello, and can't wait to be back in the Burrow! Hope you're doing well._

_ Harry_

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note of what to add to her article before sending it off to the _Prophet_. Then she told an extremely delighted Mrs. Wesley that Harry was likely to join them for Christmas, as well. It looked as if that news might as well been Christmas morning itself for how happy it made Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, my, oh, my, it'll be just like old times," Mrs. Weasley said dreamily, leaning against the wall with a hand resting on her heart. "We'll have them all back," she murmured, her hand grasping something in her robe pocket that Hermione suspected was the tiny framed picture of Fred that Mrs. Weasley always carried with her these days.

"All?" Hermione asked, trying to ignore the way her heart ached at the thought of Christmas minus one twin. "Will – will Bill be coming then, too?"

Mrs. Weasley beamed at her, pointing at the two open letters on the table. "Oh, I never told you! I got the most wonderful letters, simply wonderful. Arthur and Percy will be back home within the hour, and Percy's bringing his-his-his _fiancé_!" Mrs. Weasley cried, as if that were just too much to be true. Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise, not taking Percy as the type to rush into any sort of engagement. "And then, almost a moment after that arrived…well, I can't even-just read it yourself!"

Hermione picked up the second letter from the table, squinting slightly to make out the hastily scrawled words.

_Mum, _

_ Might stop by for dinner tonight. Haven't seen you in a while. Be there around six if I can make it. _

_ Bill_

Hermione blinked rapidly in surprise, but didn't have much time to think before Mrs. Weasley's arms were around her, hugging her tightly to the point it was difficult to breathe. "_It's like you knew he would come_!" Molly gasped, breathlessly happy. "You said it yourself a few days ago, that you felt he'd be in touch soon! And to think," she continued, "you didn't bother taking the Divination exam! I daresay you'd have passed that with flying colors just like everything else!"

Hermione blushed, deciding, once again, not to tell Mrs. Weasley about the sudden appearance and disappearance of her son. She focused instead on setting the table, careful to make sure everything was symmetrical and straight, before heading back up to her room to finish the article and start a return letter to Harry.

And for the first time in a long time, she dug through her trunk and pulled out the faded, yellowed photograph of Bill Weasley, a good deal younger and completely unscarred. As she stared at him, she felt that the Bill she was looking at in the photo had never really existed, but that was silly, because a scar didn't change someone that much.

_Unless you're Harry Potter_, a voice in her head said sarcastically.

_Or if that scar came from a werewolf,_ a quieter, more serious voice answered.

* * *

**_A/N: _**I'm really tempted to just post everything I have written all at once, but if I do that then this will never get finished. I have a quota set of having two chapters ahead written before I post anything. Boo. Anyway, right around chapter eight is where things start to pick up slightly. So that's not far off! Thanks to everyone who's favorited and especially reviewed this! It means a ton!

P.S.: I've gotten a few complaints about how short my chapters are. I've _always _written short chapters in everything I write: fanfiction or my original work. I can't help it! I'm very ADHD about my writing, so the only way I keep something going is by writing in short bursts with very definite beginnings and endings of scenes. And that's really what I write in: scenes. I've never been good at long, arcing chapters. Oh, well:/


	7. Chapter 7

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...in which someone has a temper.

* * *

_

The dinner table wasn't _exactly _awkward, but Hermione got the distinct impression that Mrs. Weasley didn't _quite_ approve of Percy's fiancé, yet. As happy as she'd been getting the letter that morning, Hermione had rather expected a warm reception for whoever walked into the Burrow holding onto Percy's arm- even if it'd been Draco Malfoy himself.

Hermione nearly choked on her mouthful of roast at the thought, and it took a good two minutes of Mr. Weasley heartily slamming his open palm into her back for her food to go down right. She hastily made a mental note to never,_ never _think of Percy Weasley marrying Draco Malfoy _ever _again before turning her attention back to the strained conversation going on across the table.

"So you two met _where _exactly?" Mrs. Weasley questioned, her voice a tad too forceful to be polite.

Percy blushed slightly at his mother's harsh tones, and Cho Chang, blushing equally as hard at his side, fumbled for an explanation. "We-we met at Hogwarts originally, you know," she scrambled. Hermione noticed that Cho had yet managed to touch her food due to Mrs. Weasley's interrogations, and felt sorry for the poor girl, even if she didn't exactly like her.

"Yes, yes, but _where_ did you meet while in _America_? Why are you _together_?" Mrs. Weasley demanded in exasperation.

Hermione didn't pay much attention to the explanation. Her eyes flickered to the empty chair beside her, and she had a feeling she understood why Mrs. Weasley was so on edge. It wasn't necessarily about Cho, though Hermione thought the whole _Cho/Harry _thing from so long ago was probably working against the poor girl as well. Hermione was pretty sure a lot of Mrs. Weasley's foul mood came from the fact that Bill had never showed up.

They had all waited in the living room, sitting on the assorted mismatched couches until well past seven o'clock. Bill never showed up or sent any sort of letter to indicate he's changed his mind_. It_ _wasn't like him_, Mrs. Weasley had shouted finally, _it just wasn't like him!_

But Mrs. Weasley hadn't seen the Bill that had apparated into Hermione's room a few days before. Hermione thought that the Bill that had stood ten feet from her, smelling like firewhiskey and something wild she couldn't place, might very well just decide not to drop in on a dinner he'd said he _might _attend. She hadn't explained this to Mrs. Weasley, of course. She's just done her best to look sympathetic and make Cho feel slightly more comfortable in the painfully awkward situation that wasn't entirely her fault.

"Well," snapped Mrs. Weasley, causing everyone at the table to jump, "I guess I'll just go grab the pudding then." She went to the oven and pulled out a large chocolate-delicious-smelling _something, _and Hermione exchanged grimaces with Mr. Weasley and the two others.

The sheer mass of the great cake that Molly brought to the table was evidence of how excited she'd been at the idea of having Bill back.

"Dig in," she commanded them, slamming the great thing down in the center or the table after clearing the other food with a wave of her wand. The great clatter of the pudding dish wasn't quite loud enough, though, to drown out the faint _pop_ of someone apparating right outside the front door.

Everyone froze, Cho looking slightly more confused than everyone else. Mrs. Weasley wasn't breathing at all, her wide, hopeful eyes locked on the doorknob. Mr. Weasley still had his hand extended toward the massive chocolate pudding, and Percy was halfway through lifting his drink to his mouth.

Hermione felt very warm all of a sudden, and there was the strangest tingle in her stomach, as if a large bubble of something very nice were growing inside her.

_He'd actually listened to her.

* * *

_

**_A/N: _**Really short. Not much to say.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...in which Bill is finally present_

He steadied himself by clutching the doorframe, waiting for his head to stop spinning. Apparating and drinking were never meant to go hand-in-hand, and he remembered that especially well when he bent over a second later and vomited spectacularly in an old, rusted cauldron near the door.

Bill straightened up, spitting out the last bit of bile in his mouth, and then steeled himself for what lay on the other side of the door.

Mrs. Weasley had collapsed into her chair, apparently so beside herself with relief and joy that she just couldn't stand any longer. Taking that as her cue, Hermione quickly rose from the table and nearly sprinted to the front door. As she reached it, she heard the most awful retching noises from the other side, and blanched. He _couldn't_have shown up drunk, could he? Surely he hadn't apparated all the way from London to the Burrow while intoxicated?

Feeling that warm bubble of something in her stomach turn a bit cold and then _pop_, disappear, Hermione opened the front door.

Bill was being propped up by the doorframe, his face pale and glistening with sweat beneath the jigsaw of scars. He half-opened one eye, squinting at Hermione as if she were very far away.

"Mum?" he managed after a moment, his voice having that distinctive rasp of someone who's just been quite sick. "Jeez, Mum, you've really lost a bit of weight, haven't you?"

Hermione's face immediately changed from disapproval to deep concern. He was far, _far _too drunk to be walking, much less apparating all over England.

_Mrs. Weasley can't see him like this_, she realized, looking over her shoulder towards the dining room. Without wasting another moment, in case Mrs. Weasley pulled herself together and came to find out what was taking so long, Hermione wrapped an arm around Bill's waist and apparated them up to his old bedroom. They were there for barely a second before Hermione felt Bill shake his head quickly and spin them once again.

She hadn't been expecting to apparate again so quickly, and her eyes took a moment to adjust once the pressure from the apparative-state had been removed. Her ears recovered much more quickly, and she heard the unmistakable sounds of Bill vomiting again. Hermione's eyes finally caught up with her other senses and she realized that Bill had taken them to bathroom one floor down from his room. Hermione grimaced as she finally found him with his back to the wall, sitting with his head between his knees and shaking slightly.

"Oh, Bill…" she murmured disapprovingly, waving her wand to vanish the puddle of clear stomach acid he'd choked into the bathtub. "I can't believe you showed up drunk…"

He started to shake his head, but the movement made him groan. "'mnotdrunk'ermione. 'mdead. 'mprettysure'mdead."

"Oh, Bill," she sighed again, crouching next to him and forcing herself not to physically recoil. He positively reekedof firewhiskey. She felt as if the very fumes coming from his clothing were enough to make her light-headed.

"Juskillmenow," he moaned, his voice echoing strangely off the bathroom floor.

Hermione was faced with a dilemma. She very much wanted to lecture him about showing up piss-drunk to his mother's home for the first time in months. She _also _wanted nothing more than to hold him like a child and whisper things that mothers did that had that magical ability to make everything in the world better. Unable to do either, she simply reached for his face and pulled it up to her eye-level.

"Bill, focus for a moment. I'm going to help you, okay?" She tried to ignore how her fingers dipped into the deep, angry scars along his jaw.

Bill blinked heavily, trying to force her image to stay together in his bleary eyes. "You're gonna help me off myself?" he demanded, putting as much clarity into each word as he could manage.

Hermione rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh at how very concerned he looked at the news. "Of course not, you…ugh." She sighed again, unable to insult him at all in the state he was in. "Can you stand to apparate one more time tonight? Just back up to the bedroom?"

Bill's eyes were slightly clearer as he looked up at her, and he managed a weak grin for the first time. "Not gonna lie, dearest; I'll probably be sick again."

Hermione forced the blush that threatened to crawl into her cheeks to die down, reminding herself that Bill was absolutely pissed and no endearments he used meant much of anything at the moment. "I'll clean it up if that happens. I just need to get you in a bed," she told him, reaching down to wrap an arm around his torso.

His grin widened, and he managed a wink. "You'll make me blush if you keep up with that kind of talk."

Rolling her eyes yet again, she disapparated them both to his old bedroom, and managed to hold up his weight just long enough to half-support, half-drag him to his old bed. He fell into it gratefully, squeezing his eyes shut tight in the way people do when they're trying very hard not to puke. Hermione caught her breath, sitting on the very edge of the bed as she tried to think of what to tell Mrs. Weasley.

She'd just have to say he was sick. And he really was, in more than one way, Hermione realized sadly as she drew up a cool cloth with her wand. She leaned across the bed, wiping it over his sweating forehead. His eyes were closed, and she thought that he, at least, would not have to face his mother until morning, if she could just come up with a convincing enough lie.

"Hermione," Bill called after her when she'd stood up to go face his mother.

She turned, surprised at how sober he suddenly sounded.

"Yes, Bill?"

"You're an angel, I swear," he muttered, before groaning again and pulling a pillow over his face as if attempting to smother himself. Hermione, trying not to be too pleased about the complement, wondered exactly how bad a hangover would be for someone with super-sensitive partial-werewolf sight, smell, and hearing.

* * *

_**A/N:**__Hmmm…_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Picture in My Pocket**_

_...in which Percy has a previous engagement._

"What's wrong? Where's Bill?" Mrs. Weasley was demanding before Hermione had even reached the bottom of the stairs.

Hermione had already thought out her story, and she recited it as well as she'd recited any answer in her days at Hogwarts. "He has a bit of a stomach bug, and this really just isn't a good time of the month for him with the werewolf bite, I'll bet. _**But**_," she added quickly, having already prepared herself for Mrs. Weasley's inevitable reaction of running upstairs to her ailing eldest son's side, "he's asleep now, and I don't think waking him up will do any good. He looked very happy to be able to rest properly."

Mrs. Weasley looked torn between following Hermione's wise advice and saying to hell with it and running upstairs anyway. She finally settled on the next best thing, and turned back to Percy and Cho. Hermione couldn't help but notice there was a bit more warmth in Mrs. Weasley's manner towards the pretty Asian witch now.

"Well, darling, Arthur and I are so glad you could come visit, of course. Will you and Percy be staying here tonight? Ron's room is open for you, Percy, and of course, Cho you are welcome to stay in Ginny's old room."

Hermione tried to hide her smile at the not-so-subtle hint that Mrs. Weasley disapproved of shacking up before marriage, engaged or not. Cho stuttered and blushed, apparently taken off guard not only by the question but in the change of demeanor as well.

Percy took control of the situation as smoothly as possible. "I'm afraid we've made arrangements to meet some of Cho's school friends for a bit of a celebration later tonight. Thank you so much for the offer though, Mother."

"_Later_ tonight?" Mrs. Weasley asked sharply. She glanced at her husband's wristwatch and scoffed. "It's well past nine o'clock now! _How much later?"_

Percy seemed to have seen this coming, or else he was telling the truth, because he answered her smoothly. "Actually, I'm glad you pointed out the time, Mother! Cho and I really should be going. We'll be by again soon, I assure you!" he added, hugging his mother and Hermione quickly around the neck and shaking hands with his father. Cho stood awkwardly, waving a shy goodbye at everyone, and then followed him from the room when he left.

Mrs. Weasley sat for a moment, as if in shock that the meal had ended so abruptly. Hermione thought she saw Mr. Weasley grinning a bit behind the _Daily Prophet_ he was holding up, but she couldn't be sure. Unable to look at Mrs. Weasley's astounded face without having the urge to giggle, Hermione quickly set to washing up all of the dishes and storing the leftovers.

After things had calmed down a bit more and Hermione and the Weasleys were preparing to turn in for the night, Mrs. Weasley called her over to her chair near the fireplace.

"How does he look, Hermione? Really?"

Hermione frowned, unwilling to lie to Mrs. Weasley again after the woman had been so kind as to allow Hermione a room in her home.

"He's…he's a bit worse for wear, Mrs. Weasley." Seeing the flash of panic in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, Hermione quickly backtracked. "I'm sure that he'll look much better once-once his stomach bug is gone."

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley looked at each other for a moment, and Hermione sensed that Mrs. Weasley sensed that she wasn't being completely honest. She didn't press the matter though.

"I suppose I'll just have to see him for myself tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley said finally, before giving Hermione a forgiving smile and heading off to bed.

Hermione waited until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gone into their bedroom and shut the door before doing what she'd so wanted to do since coming up with her lie about Bill's health: she ran to the nearest window and gazed up at the moon, taking in it's size and position in the sky.

So she hadn't really been lying too much then. The moon was within a few days of being full.

People had always wondered why Hermione was put in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. She thought that her analysis of the current situation would be a good enough explanation for anyone. She _knew_ that a half werewolf was upstairs and feeling the effects of the ripening moon. Her incredible brain had been able to deduce that easily and relatively quickly. That could have landed her in Ravenclaw effortlessly. But Hermione was a true Gryffindor because of her next move: instead of using her enormous brain mass to deduce that the situation was too dangerous to be involved in, she decided that the situation was far too dangerous for _Mrs. Weasley_ to be involved in, so after a final grimace at the near-full moon, Hermione made her own way up to her occupied bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...in which they interact with relative success._

Every fucking day is the same. Wake up in this piss-poor excuse for an apartment, head feeling just about ready to burst open, the scars on his face and neck aching as if they were only hours old instead of years. Try not to listen, because noise hurts. Try not to open his eyes, because light hurts. Try not to breathe, because _being alive_ hurts.

But the will to live is strong, and he hates to think that the wolf blood in him is the reason he's still alive. He's an animal, and animals are made to survive.

Growling in frustration at the fact that he'd lived to see another shitty day, he finally took in a deep breath-

and felt as if something had punched him-_hard-_in the stomach.

Bill sat bolt upright and instantly regretted it. He'd forgotten that he had the hangover of the century headed his way, courtesy of Bill-from-last-night, a fellow that present-Bill had grown to dislike more and more over the past few months. He'd expected his head to hurt, but he couldn't understand why everything was _so. damn. bright._

He snarled, but the intake of breath brought the smell that had nearly knocked him breathless back to the front of his mind, which seemed rather one-track these days. Hesitantly, he peaked through squinted eyelids, searching for the source of _that _scent.

And there, at the foot of his bed, was the source, not only of the scent, but of the light that was pissing him off so very much.

She had a chair pulled up near the end of the bed, and it was clear she'd been reading before she dozed off. Her upper body was slumped on the bed, her luminous wand tip resting on an open book, her mass of dark hair splayed across the pages.

_Fucking wand_, Bill grumbled internally, half-crawling to the foot of the bed himself and wrestling the damned thing from her sleeping grasp. He shook it until the light turned off, and then paused, the scent from Hermione catching him off guard again.

It was the strangest smell- life, vitality, warm earth, sleep, comfort, _sex_… A thousand things came to mind. Without thinking, he leaned in a bit closer, sniffing her hair. Yes, the smell was certainly coming from her. He felt a rumble deep in his chest, almost like a growl. His headache (which seemed like a really lenient term for what was going on inside his skull) throbbed worse than ever and he let out a whine. Cursing himself and Fenrir and everything else, he fell back onto his pillow, clutching his head in his hands and fighting back a howl of pain.

He never heard her get up, but suddenly he felt tiny hands wrap around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face gently but forcefully.

"Stop it, right now," said a sleepy, but still wonderfully bossy voice. Bill cracked open one eye and stared up at the pale, disheveled Hermione. One of her hands continued to hold his wrist while the other moved up to his forehead. "You'll scratch your face off if you keep doing that," she said quietly, allowing her cool hand to rest on his skin for a moment.

Bill's eyes slid closed, and he couldn't believe how wonderful such a small thing could feel. Even the scent of her was amazing- so strong, yet not repulsive to his hangover-heightened sense of smell.

"Someone's already scratched my face off for me, I'm afraid," he muttered bitterly, leaving his eyes closed. Even though it was still dark outside the windows of the room and her wand had been extinguished, looking at things was just too much at the moment.

Hermione made a small noise, but Bill couldn't tell what it meant. "That's not funny," she scolded him, removing her hand from his forehead. He missed it when it was gone.

"What were you reading about this time?" Bill asked, trying to keep his mind off of the fact that his head seemed likely to explode at any moment.

"Ancient runes," Hermione answered, pressing something to his lips. Bill's eyes flew open, and he glared at her reproachfully.

"What's this you're trying to poison me with?" he demanded, pushing the bottle away from his mouth so that he could sniff it first.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's water. You'll be dehydrated after the binge you went on last night. _What_were you thinking, Bill? _Honestly._"

He took the bottle from her and downed the water, not meeting her eye.

"One generally goes on drinking binges to avoid thinking, in my professional opinion."

She scowled at him, but he still wouldn't meet her eye. "Well, then," she said suddenly, standing up from the bedside and heading to the door, "I hope you enjoy explaining that to your mum in the morning."

Her hand was on the doorknob before he'd managed to call after her, "Wait!"

The sound of his own voice was too much for his ears and he snarled at himself._Fucking git._He could smell and feel her presence still in the room, so he addressed her without opening his eyes. "Sorry. Please don't get Mum, yet. I'd like to be a bit more decent before I face her. Please, Hermione, I haven't seen her in over a year. I don't want _this_to be her first impression."

She was quiet, and all he could hear was her breathing. Then she quickly crossed the room and resumed her seat at the foot of his bed.

"Go to the bathroom and get cleaned up then," she ordered. "You stink like firewhiskey and…and…" Bill raised his eyebrows at her, curious as to what else he _stank_like.

"Well, Ms. Granger?"

"Nothing, just go take a shower," she said, clearly flustered about something.

"Your wish, my command," he grumbled sarcastically, rolling off the bed and heading out to the bathroom.

Hermione slowed her breathing as close to normal as she could, and tried to erase from her mind that she'd almost told Bill Weasley that, beneath the strong scent of stale firewhiskey, he smelled like her Amortentia.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

…_in which Mrs. Weasley is present._

_"Oh, Bill!"_

The strangled gasp was enough to snap Bill into consciousness and out of bed. He rolled out from under the sheets, falling with a loud _thump_onto the hard wooden floor. Bill groaned loudly, grabbing the covers from the bed and wrapping them around his face, praying that they would spring to life and strangle him to end his misery.

_"Oh, Bill,_" his mother gasped again, rushing into the room and nearly causing his head to explode with her damned harpy screeching.

"_What?_" he growled from his huddled position on the floor.

"Oh, Bill," she said _again_, trying to pull the comforter off of his head. He snarled again, rolling onto his back and away from her. He stopped rolling when his back hit the wall, and he struggled to a squatting position, clutching the sheets tighter to his face, trying to block out light and sound and smell and life.

He was breathing quickly, almost sounding as if he had asthma. Over the sounds of his own ragged breathing, he could just make out a quiet sniffling.

_Oh no._

Bill knew that his brain was going to split open in about four seconds if he didn't find a way to squelch his mother's waterworks. With great effort, he forced himself to throw the bed sheets away and wrap his mother in a tight embrace.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Mrs. Weasley was just in one of those moods.

"_OH, BILL!"_she wailed, apparently out of joy. The proximity of her yells to his sensitive, hung-over ears was as good as jabbing a fingernail file into each eardrum, but he gritted his teeth and tried his best not to snap at her.

Salvation came in the form of a bushy-haired, smug-looking witch carrying a tray of bacon and toast. Hermione set the tray on the bedside table and gently tugged Mrs. Weasley away from Bill.

"Mrs. Weasley, you should really keep your voice down. I think it hurts his ears," Hermione said matter-of-factly, not quite meeting the more-than-grateful gaze of the tall Weasley man at her side.

"Oh, right, of course," Mrs. Weasley sniffed, beaming at Bill through her tear-stained eyes.

Bill had trouble looking at his mother's loving expression, so instead he stared at a spot slightly above her head and tried to block out how very out of place he felt. Not to mention how very awful.

"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said again, and Bill was startled back to attention, hoping the clever witch was going to work some magic to get rid of his mother. "Why don't you go tell Mr. Weasley that Bill's awake now? I'm sure he'd like to see him."

Bill glared reproachfully at Hermione over his mother's head, but she didn't seem to be paying him a bit of attention. As Mrs. Weasley practically sprinted from the room to collect her husband, Bill growled and turned angrily on his heel, heading for a certain loose floorboard.

"Don't bother," Hermione said quietly from behind him.

He almost broke his neck turning back to glare at her some more. "Why not? You're making me face my damned parents for the first time in a year, and you expect me to do it completely sober?" He snorted, turning back to the floorboard and wrenching the board free.

Bill froze.

"_Where. Is. My. Whiskey."_ he growled through gritted teeth, not daring to look at Hermione lest he lose what was left of his mind and attack her with his bare hands.

"I told you not to bother. I've thrown it out."

Bill squeezed his eyes shut tight. "You've _what?_"

Hermione was standing a good five feet behind him, and he knew that if he turned quickly enough and launched himself with enough power, he could be tearing out her throat in a matter of seconds. "I've thrown it out. It's no good for you, Bill."

He forced himself to breathe, trying to reason with whatever part of him was enraged enough to kill her. He couldn't tell if it was the wolf or the alcoholic.

"Fine," Bill spat, pressing his balled up fists into his eyes as he attempted to block out light and anger and hatred all at once. "Fine," he repeated, standing suddenly and causing Hermione to take a quick step away from him. He turned quickly on the spot, thinking as hard as he could of his apartment-

But nothing happened.

"_WHAT THE FUCK!"_ he howled, finally turning his full rage on Hermione. She didn't shrink away, but he could smell the terror behind her calm mask. With two steps, he was in her face, his large hands wrapped around her upper arms, digging in painfully.

_"LET ME GO_! _Let me leave! It was a mistake to come back here anyway!_"

Hermione closed her eyes, and shook her head slowly. "No, it wasn't a mistake. Bill, calm down."

He felt his whole body shaking with rage as his fingers tightened even further around her arms.

"_GOD DAMMIT, GRANGER, LIFT THIS FUCKING ENCHANTMENT AND LET ME__**GO!**__"_

A miniscule rational section of his brain was begging her to open her eyes, to defend herself, because he knew he couldn't stop. He'd been using the whiskey as a crutch to keep himself in control for so long that he was now entirely unable to handle himself sober.

"Please, calm down," she whispered, her voice shaking a bit with the adrenaline pumping through her system.

With an almost inhuman amount of strength, Bill forced himself to let her arms go, only to grab the next closest thing (the wardrobe beside his bed) and hurl it against the nearest wall. The wood of the wardrobe shattered like glass, sending splinters flying in every direction. Hermione's clothes, which had been hidden in the drawers, littered the floor and her books landed in various stages of disarray amongst the rest of the debris.

Bill's shoulders and chest were heaving from the exertion, but Hermione was still standing there with her eyes closed, arms held limply by her sides.

Right as another wave of fury swept through him, something on the ground near his foot caught Bill's eye. He was distracted enough that the rage ebbed away as he bent down to pick up the tiny wizarding photograph.

A photograph of himself, from all those years ago when his family had visited him in Egypt.

He was familiar with the photo, except he was used to seeing the rest of his family blinking out of the picture as well. Instead, it was only his younger self, grinning up at him with a cheeky gleam in his eye.

Hermione's eyes had slid open, and she was watching Bill carefully as he studied the tiny picture of himself. It was a long while before he trusted himself to speak.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice very unsteady, and deafeningly quiet after his enraged howling from moments before. He held the tiny picture of himself as if it might burst into flames at any second.

"I…I cut it out when I was in my third year," Hermione whispered, heat rising to her face. She struggled to remember that being embarrassed was better than being ripped in half by a mad werewolf hybrid.

Bill was still staring at the photo, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. "Your third year," he echoed, barely more than a breath.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

…_in which Bill gets more than he bargained for._

Hermione would never be able to understand what caused his next action. In the blink of an eye, he had closed the space between them and had his face buried in her hair, his arms wrapped tightly around her body. She wasn't sure if he was hugging her or trying to break her in half, so she didn't say anything and just waited on him to let her know what the hell was going on.

Minutes eased by, and if Hermione had a clock to look at she would have sworn it had stopped working. She slowly relaxed in his arms, feeling the beating of his heart echo in her ear where her face was pressed to his warm, muscular chest. It was very pleasant, and if she hadn't only seconds before been scared for her life, Hermione probably would have realized that she had dreamed of a moment like this for years and years.

"'m sorry," Bill's rough voice whispered into her mass of tangled hair, and Hermione sighed in relief. She was still dreadfully confused, but at least he wasn't going to tear her throat out just this minute.

Hermione's arms were pinned between the two of them, but she struggled a bit and got them free, then gingerly wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I want to help you get better, Bill," she whispered, eyes shut tight in case it was the wrong thing to say.

She felt him sigh, and she could feel him moving back to look down at her. When she opened her eyes, he was frowning, his dark eyes repentant.

"You're terrified of me now, aren't you?" he asked quietly, seeing the way she shrank away from him when he opened his mouth.

Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to act as if that wasn't the complete truth. "You're not much worse than Harry when he had Voldemort popping in and out of his head."

Bill snorted. "Oh, well, as long as I'm _not much worse_ than someone who was possessed by the Dark Lord."

Footsteps coming up the stairs made them both stiffen, and Hermione met Bill's eyes evenly. "Get in the bed," she commanded softly.

Bill knew she hadn't meant it in _that_way, but it put a lopsided grin on his face anyway. He quickly ducked away from the light slap she threw at him when she noticed his idiotic smile, and he hopped into the bed.

The footsteps were almost at the door, and Hermione mouthed at Bill that he should pretend to be asleep. He followed her advice, and Hermione was rather impressed. It seemed that Bill and Ginny shared whatever genes made a person a good actor, because if she hadn't been the one telling him to fake sleep, she would have believed him. She rolled her eyes when she imagined the show Ron would have put on if she'd told _him_to feign sleep.

The door burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley tumbled in, looking quite breathless.

"Bill-" Mrs. Weasley's voice caught in her throat when she caught sight of the _clearly _sleeping form of her oldest son. She smiled fondly at him, coming to sit on a corner of his bed while Mr. Weasley stood at her shoulder.

"Oh, my," Mrs. Weasley whispered, her eyes beginning to brim with tears again, "he's cut his hair."

Hermione had noticed that as well, and she wondered if a wave of triumph had swept through Molly after all these years. She had only been telling Bill to cut his hair since…well, since he was old enough to tell her no.

"He looks pretty terrible," Mr. Weasley mumbled, his kind face rumpled with concern. Hermione saw the slightest frown lines appear on Bill's forehead, but not enough to give him away.

Mrs. Weasley patted her husband's hand. "A few weeks here and he'll be good as new," she comforted.

Hermione almost grinned when the frown lines on Bill's face returned full-force, and he was lucky that his parents were looking at each other instead of at him. Apparently _a few weeks_was a bit more than he had bargained for.

* * *

_**A/N:**_Sorry if this seems rushed. I'm in more of a reading phase right now than writing, but if I didn't write something for this soon it would've slipped from my mind entirely. So yay determination.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...a chapter in which someone gets naked.

* * *

_

Life at the Burrow suddenly seemed a lot busier than usual to Hermione. Percy and Cho popped in and out regularly, Ginny was home that weekend, quickly followed by Ron and Charlie. George and Angelina made an appearance at dinner every night. Harry was well on his way to being back in the country within a few days, and Mr. Weasley had returned to his desk job for a while in order to be home for the holidays. And then, of course, there was Bill.

Hermione had unofficially taken over as his AA instructor of sorts. Mrs. Weasley was still running around under the impression that he was suffering from a stomach-flu/full moon combo, and neither Bill nor Hermione had bothered to correct her. He only left his old bedroom to join his family at meals, but it was still pretty obvious to everyone that, whatever was wrong with him, he was getting better. Better, though, was a far cry from well.

"Goddamit, I don't _feel_ like it!" Bill snapped at Hermione, pulling the covers of his bed over his face and rolling away from the cup of steaming liquid she was offering him.

"_William Weasley_," she snapped back, using her wand to tear the covers away. "You will drink this potion and you will _like it_." She shoved the cup into his face, which he immediately scrunched up in disgust.

Bill sat up, tugging his hands through his hair in frustration as he tried not to breathe in the steam coming off the liquid. "Smells like piss," he grumbled irritably.

"Yes, well you don't smell like a bed of roses right now either," Hermione said, turning up her nose as she handed him the cup. "How long has it been since you've taken a shower?"

Bill rolled his eyes at her, sniffing gingerly at the cup before turning it up into his mouth. He probably would've choked on the disgusting shit if his throat wasn't so fucked up from a straight year of drinking nothing but firewhiskey. He shuddered a bit, dropping the glass on the floor with a sharp crash before answering Hermione's question.

"Since the last time you told me to take one, I'd imagine."

Hermione groaned, waving her wand to fix the glass that had shattered. "Bill, that's disgusting. It's been days."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, waving his hand dismissively as he stood from the bad and went to his closet to dig out clothes. "I'll go take one now, just stop badgering me."

Hermione huffed and turned to leave the room, but paused when Bill's voice sounded behind her.

"Thanks though. For doing all this I mean. That nasty shit really does make it easier to be myself," he said quietly, and Hermione left the room quickly, not wanting him to see how pleased with herself she must have looked.

Down in the kitchen, Charlie and Ron were playing chess while Mrs. Weasley fussed over dinner. When Hermione entered, Molly rounded on her, ready for her daily rundown on Bill's health.

"He's taking a shower and then I think he'll be down for dinner," Hermione said dutifully, sitting beside Charlie at the big kitchen table. She watched as Ron mercilessly destroyed half of Charlie's pieces, and looked up only when Ginny bounded into the kitchen carrying Crookshanks under her arm.

"Mum, I've just gotten a letter from Harry. He says he'll be here in the morning!" Ginny nearly yelled, spinning Crookshanks around the kitchen in a dizzying blur.

Mrs. Weasley beamed at her, and Hermione grinned as well. It would be good to see him again, to say the least. Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to respond to Ginny when-

"_FUCK IT, GODDAMN, SONOFABITCH MOTHERFUCK-"_

Hermione was out of the kitchen and up the stairs before the next syllable was even halfway out of Bill's mouth. She rushed into the bathroom where his frustrated yells had come from and froze in the doorway.

Bill was naked as the day he was born, leaning against the sink and trying to stifle the flow of blood from the side of his neck. Hermione panicked, rushing up to him and pulling his hand away to inspect the damage. Bill, for his part, was just about as surprised to see her as she was to see him naked, but he didn't protest as she inspected the gash on his throat.

"It looks like you tried to kill yourself," she said shakily, taking her wand out of her pocket and running it just above the still-bleeding gash. She was very aware of how very unclothed he was, and she was _more _than aware of how she was pressed against him as she tended to the slash on his throat.

Bill snorted, rolling his eyes. "Hardly. I'd've done a much cleaner job of it if that were the case."

Hermione stopped what she was doing to up into his eyes. "That's not funny," she said softly.

Things were quiet as they looked into each others' eyes. Hermione was still glaring at him, unaware of the blood that now coated her hands as she pressed them to the gash to stifle the blood-flow. Bill was staring back at her, no real hint of emotion on his face.

"Sorry," he said finally, holding up one of his hands to show her a razor covered in blood and ginger hairs. "I was trying to shave and I fucked it up."

Hermione sighed in relief, turning her attention back to the cut that she had finally managed to close up for the most part. She ran her wand over the blood that covered his neck and chest, siphoning it off until he was clean.

"Thanks," he said, his voice husky, and Hermione's cheeks burned red as she realized again just how naked he was.

"I-I-I'd better get back downstairs," she stuttered, turning to go just as two redheads appeared in the doorway.

"OI! What the hell?" Ron demanded, covering his eyes with his hands. His mother was staring wide-eyed at her naked oldest son and Hermione, who was still very close to him.

"It's not what it looks like!" Hermione cried desperately, turning to Bill for help.

She briefly saw a gleam in his eye that reminded her unpleasantly of Fred and George, and then his arms wrapped around her stomach, pulling her back flush against his front.

"Yeah, Mum, I know it looks like she was just helping me with this cut on my neck, but we were actually shagging," Bill said seriously.

Ron moved his hands from his eyes to his ears, chanting, "Don't want to know, don't want to know," over and over as he quickly exited the bathroom and headed back downstairs.

Mrs. Weasley recovered a bit faster. "_Bill Weasley, let that poor girl go this instant!"_

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley both froze when the sound of warm, belly-laughter filled the bathroom. Hermione could feel Bill shaking with mirth behind her, which was very distracting as she could _feel_ certain parts of him a bit more clearly than others. Mrs. Weasley was wide-eyed as she watched Bill tearing up with laughter, a site she hadn't seen in a very long time.

"Yes, well," she said, trying to hide her smile, "you'd best not scare me like that, Bill."

Bill was still laughing too hard to answer, but Mrs. Weasley exited the bathroom, leaving a red-faced Hermione feeling very awkward in the bathroom.

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**_A/N: _**Sorry this took so long! Thanks for the wonderful reviews, and hope you like this chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...a chapter in which someone is still fairly naked.

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_

"What was that about?" Hermione demanded, rounding on Bill. Her eyes inadvertently dropped a bit lower than his face(somewhere in the general area of his hips), and she yelped and turned away again, her face blushing a furious scarlet.

Bill chuckled, making no move to put any clothes on. "We'll call it payback for nagging me earlier."

"I was not _nagging_ you, I was-" Hermione started, so frustrated that she quite forgot he was naked and turned to look at him again. She made another startled noise and turned away again.

"You don't have to look away, you know," Bill said lazily, leaning against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not shy."

Hermione sputtered, completely unable to come up with any retort.

"Besides," Bill added, an undertone of merriment in his deep voice, "you know you _want _to look."

"I do not!" Hermione screeched, whirling around to glare at him indignantly. He was grinning at her, and his grin only widened when her eyes unfailingly trailed down his chest, stomach, and landed on his crotch.

"I'd tell you to get a picture because it would last longer, but it seems you've already gotten one," Bill teased, his eyes sparkling. He shifted his weight, leaning his upper body towards Hermione so that her eyes lifted back up to his face.

Bill rather thought that she was going to pass out from all the blood that was pooling in her cheeks, but part of him really liked the way that she looked. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, and he could practically feel the heat rolling off of her in waves. His sense of smell was going haywire, completely overwhelmed by the hormones raging through her body. Her lips were parted slightly as she prepared to speak, probably to tell him off for messing with her.

For her part, Hermione was having trouble forming any sort of coherent thought. Everything in her body was entirely too aware of Bill, of how close he was, of how warm he was, of how his eyes were dark and dancing and amused. She struggled to pay attention to what he was saying to her, but the most she could manage was feeling the deep rumble of his voice rolling through her chest.

Bill took a step toward her, his tall, lean body now only centimeters from hers. Hermione's eyes widened even more, but she couldn't make herself step away.

"W-what are you doing?" she stammered, looking up into his face with something like terror. The look on her face made something in him snap and roar to life, some part of him that should have been stifled by that potion she'd given him earlier.

Well fuck that, then.

His lips crashed onto hers, his hands tangling into her hair and dragging her up against his body. Hermione tried very hard to protest, but when she lifted her hands to his chest to push him away she became very distracted by the way his smooth muscles rippled beneath her fingers. His breath was hot against her mouth, and he was insistent, pushing his tongue against her lips, forcing her mouth open with a groan and tasting every inch of her that he could reach.

Hermione wasn't thinking clearly at all when she allowed her hands to skim over his body, running down his naked back and then around his hips to trace down the trail of ginger hair that started below his belly button and ran down, down, down to the point where-

Bill hissed, tearing his mouth away from hers and glaring at her with dark, turbulent eyes, his lips pulled back from his teeth in an aggressive snarl. Hermione's pulse was pounding in her ears, and she froze, her fingertips barely touching the hollow between his hips. She waited, barely breathing, for Bill to give some kind of sign that he wasn't going to tear her head off.

They stood there for ages it seemed, Hermione slowly regaining her senses as Bill fought some sort of internal struggle that she couldn't fathom. His eyes slowly lightened to a color much nearer his natural blue, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. She relaxed, her hand rising to rest over his heart as she tried to calm herself.

"Sorry again," he murmured, feeling her pulse racing beneath his fingers where they rested lightly on her neck. "You keep surprising me is all," he breathed, closing his eyes and pushing back the wolf that was fighting him tooth and nail, telling him to continue what he'd been doing before, to force her to continue what she had been about to do.

Hermione laughed shakily, barely able to process what he was saying.

"_What the hell is happening here?_" two voices demanded from the doorway, and Hermione whirled to see Ginny and, once again, Ron staring wide-eyed into the bathroom. Honestly, he never learned.

Bill's arms once again circled her stomach, pulling her back against his bare front.

"Hermione's been taking care of this cut on my neck," he said evenly, gesturing to the newest scar on his body. Ron seemed to think that was quite enough information for him because he immediately turned and headed back downstairs. Ginny, however, was staring pointedly at Hermione.

"Mum wants to talk to you," Ginny said, her eyes not leaving Hermione's.

"Right," Hermione said, swallowing hard and moving to follow Ginny down to the kitchen. Bill tightened his arms again, leaning down to whisper into her ear before she left, "I'd like to talk to you, too, in a bit."

"Put clothes on, please," she said in a small, almost naturally bossy tone before sprinting out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Bill grinned again, glancing at himself in the mirror and liking what he saw for the first time in years.

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**_A/N: _**Thanks for the reviews! I got a record amount for that last chapter, and in a record amount of time! It was almost as if you all sensed that I already had this one written, waiting in the wings for all that positive feedback. Hmmmm. Ah, well. Sorry again about how short my chapters are- that's just how my brain works.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...a chapter in which Hermione gets a talking-to

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_

Hermione's stomach felt as if it were trying to crawl out of her belly as she made her way down to the kitchen. Nothing, absolutely nothing, good could come of Mrs. Weasley walking in on the scene she'd walked in on.

When Hermione entered the kitchen of the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had her back to her, busy with a pot on the stove. Wondering whether to announce herself or not, Hermione cleared her throat quietly, half-hoping the red headed matriarch wouldn't hear.

"Hm?" Mrs. Weasley said, glancing over her shoulder. To Hermione's immense relief, she didn't look angry. At least not yet. "Oh Hermione dear, have a seat."

She did as she was told, sinking into a chair as far as possible from Molly. "Ginny said you'd like to talk to me?" Hermione prodded wearily, hoping to get whatever was coming out of the way as quickly as possible.

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley muttered, sticking the tip of her finger in the pot and giving it a taste. Her face screwed up in disappointment, and she began searching the cupboards for something to fix whatever she had deemed wrong. "Yes, it's about Bill."

Well that wasn't exactly a surprise.

"Hermione, dear, you've done an excellent job of nursing him back to health and…and, quite frankly, sanity. But Arthur and I are beginning to worry that he may need to see a professional in the field of lycanthropy care."

Hermione felt as if the sun had just burst forth on a cloudy day. So she _wasn't _in trouble for the whole starkers-in-the-bathroom incident. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Don't get me wrong, dear, you've done a truly amazing job. We just feel as if we need to get him checked up on, just to be safe," Mrs Weasley explained, turning concerned eyes to Hermione as if worried she might have somehow offended her.

Hermione nearly laughed in relief. "Oh, no, that sounds like an excellent idea, Mrs. Weasley. Maybe they'll have a better potion than the one I've been brewing. From what Bill's said, it tastes quite awful."

Mrs. Weasley beamed at her fondly. "Bill never did much like medicine," she confided, her eyes sparkling merrily.

"Well, I'd best go check and see if the newest batch of the potion is ready," Hermione said, standing from her seat. "Just so we have enough to last until he can see a specialist."

Hermione was halfway to the door when Mrs. Weasley's sharp voice made her freeze in her tracks.

"Be careful, dear," Mrs. Weasley said quietly. The words, so motherly in themselves, but so chilling in the way she said them, gave Hermione goosebumps.

"W-w-what do you mean?" she stuttered, facing Mrs. Weasley wearily once more.

Molly surveyed her for a long moment with the calculating eyes of a mother deciding how much information to give a child. Hermione had received that exact same look from her own mother the first time she asked where babies came from.

"Bill is my oldest son, and I love him dearly. I don't want to see him hurt again," Mrs. Weasley said finally, wiping her hands on her apron as she spoke. "But you're like a daughter to me, Hermione, and I don't want to see you get hurt, either. He's getting attached to you, dear. And I think the two of you need to be very careful about how you proceed from here on out."

Hermione felt her cheeks burning red. Mrs. Weasley was possibly the only person in the world, besides Bill and Hermione herself, who new about the picture. She had found it one summer at Grimmuald Place while doing the laundry, and though she'd never expressly said anything to Hermione, the knowledge that she knew of Hermione's old crush fluttered between them like a giant, awkward flying elephant.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione managed. She turned to leave again, only to be pulled back once more.

"And Hermione dear," Mrs. Weasley said, her tone now a bit sharper. "I would very much prefer it if you and Bill were not in the bathroom at the same time, especially not when either of you in unclothed."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione repeated, feeling dizzy from all the blood now pooled in her cheeks. When she was sure Mrs. Weasley had nothing else to say, she nearly ran from the kitchen, her foot on the third step up the her bedroom when a hand grabbed her arm, yanking her back downstairs.

Ginny had that look on her face that said Hermione was in for a thorough questioning, and, after that, a good long talking-to.

Bill sat on the edge of his bed, flipping casually through a large book from his old bookshelf. It had been a long time since he'd seriously read anything, and he was quite relieved to find that the amount of alcohol he'd poured into his brain over the past few years was not quite enough to make him illiterate.

The more he read, the more he thought about how he used to be. He hadn't just been handsome- he'd been smart. It wasn't something he often thought about, but he'd truly been a bright guy at some point. Not so bright that he didn't piss all that away, but bright enough for it to be a bit impressive. As he closed the book and fell back on the bed, hands behind his head as he glared at the ceiling, he wondered where it had all gone wrong.

Other than the whole divorce thing, obviously.

And the werewolf attack.

And that little detail about the worst dark wizard of all time just happening to make his epic return exactly during what should have been the prime of Bill's life.

Yes, other than those small trifles, what had gone wrong?

He snorted, feeling a familiar irritation growing in his chest. His head ached and he wanted nothing more than a good bottle of whiskey to wash that hurt away, but at the moment he couldn't apparate, there was no whiskey in the room, and his wand was in Hermione Granger's back pocket, wherever she'd run off to.

Growling in frustration, he fought the urge to rip the room apart just because he could. Sooner or later, Hermione'd be back up here with that bossy look in her eye and her witty comebacks that were just clever enough to distract him from the constant hell that was his mental state.

Hermione Granger…

Bill felt an unexpected tugging at the corner of his lips, an attempt at a smile, as he pictured her blushing shocked face from the bathroom earlier. Oh, that was priceless. What he wouldn't give to make her blush like that again. He half-considered taking his sweatpants off and sitting on the bed naked until she returned, just to throw her off. The chance of his mum or Ginny walking in instead though was pretty high, so he decided against it. He settled for removing his shirt and tossing it into the far corner, then he reclined on the bed and shut his eyes, running through scenarios of what Hermione's face might look like when she burst into the room to find him shirtless.

His face melted into a lopsided grin as he drifted off into a midday nap.

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**_A/N: _**Sorry this took so long! Hope you enjoy it.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...a chapter in which someone has a **very odd** dream._

* * *

After half an hour of assuring Ginny that, no she had not meant to walk in on Bill naked, no they were not secretly dating, no they had not had sex, _no they did not have sex, NO THEY WERE NOT HAVING SEX, _and yes she'd let her know if any of those things changed (as if), Hermione finally managed to free herself and head up to Bill's bedroom where the potion was in desperate need of a good stir.

_That potion's not the only thing in need of a good stir, _Hermione's brain said dreamily as she pictured the bathroom scene for about the hundredth time in the past ten minutes.

_Oh hush_, she said to herself, blushing at the memory of Bill's body pressed against her, the feel of every bit of him she could reach flowing beneath her fingertips, his lips crashing against hers like the waves on the French shore.

After she'd composed herself, she pushed open the door to Bill's bedroom, thinking a second too late that she probably should have knocked.

Luckily, he was at least clothed this time. Barely.

He was sprawled across the bed, bare-chested and wearing only a pair of baggy gray sweatpants that were rolled up to his knees. Hermione found herself marveling at the scars that ran down his neck and across his chest, the way his hair was shagged up in every direction, even the way his fingers twitched as he dreamed. She wondered what he was dreaming about, her eyes mesmerized as he groped for his dreams, searching for something. There was something else about him that she couldn't place, something different. It was as if something in his face had changed, for the better. He looked...

He looked peaceful. Hermione felt warmth spread through her chest as she realized how much healthier he seemed.

She also felt, for the first time, that things were getting a bit awkward. When he woke up, they'd have to come to terms with the fact that they'd snogged in the bathroom. There was no getting around it.

Hermione wasn't eager for that discussion- in fact, she was dreading it almost as much as she'd dread the talk with his mother. So instead of waking him up, she went over to the bed and sat on the edge, careful not to disturb him. He was really an amazing creature to look at, she though to herself.

She was beginning to feel a bit tired herself, worn out from all of the uncomfortable occurrences of the day. Carefully, she lay down as close to the edge of the bed as she could get, doing her best not to touch the sleeping red head beside her.

Feeling warm and comfortable, she allowed her mind to drift. What would it be like to be bitten by a werewolf? To have another being of a different species in control of your thoughts for weeks at a time? Were werewolves fluffy? Maybe their fur was wiry. She couldn't remember every reading about the texture of their fur. Suddenly, she was back at Hogwarts, and Hagrid was leading the Care of Magical Creatures class to an enclosure in the Forbidden Forest where a pack of wild, naked Bills were fighting over what appeared to be a zebra carcass. The class ooohed and aaaaahhhed, and Hermione tried to ask the nearest Bill if it preferred zebra to boar, but instead of answering her it growled and gnashed its teeth, attempting tear at her face through the large wooden fence.

"Aye, they'll do that sometimes," Hagrid said happily, patting the largest naked Bill fondly in the head while it attempted to bite his hand off. "Yer've gotta be stern with 'em when they get that way."

Bill was more than entertained listening to Hermione sleeptalk. Whatever she was dreaming about right now, he'd give his left arm to be able to see it. Her face had the oddest mixture of confusion and wonder and terror, and she was moving about wrestlessly.

"I said _no_," she mumbled, her eyebrows swooping down into an angry line. "Eat the zebra. No, _don't _bite Neville, he's not doing anything to you."

She got quiet for a moment, and then her face cleared up, turning to a gentle smile. "Oh, Hagrid, they're wonderful," she murmured. "Why are they naked though?"

Bill perked up, now exponentially more interested. Something naked was eating zebras and attacking someone named Neville. What on earth was happening in the brilliant little brain on hers? Only one way to find out.

Feeling a little bad about it, Bill gently prodded Hermione in the ribs. Instead of waking up, she simply turned over in her sleep and continued conversing with Hagrid about the "beautiful naked creatures" he was showing the class. A bit frustrated and more than a bit curious, Bill decided to up the stakes. He pulled Hermione onto her back and stared at her face for a long moment, deciding something. Then-

He pressed his lips to hers firmly, feeling ecstatic. Every nerve ending in his body lit up as Hermione stirred beneath them, her lips moving gently against his as she struggled back to consciousness. With a great effort, Bill pulled himself away, trying to look casual as he leaned against the headboard and watched her.

Hermione opened her eyes, feeling that she'd just had the oddest, most vivid dream of her entire life. When one of the wild Bills had kissed her, it had felt almost too real, and she'd woken up. Now real Bill was staring at her curiously, arms crossed over his muscular chest.

"So what was naked and eating zebras?" he asked, watching her with amusement in his blue eyes.

Hermione nearly fell off the bed in shock. Of all the dreams to sleeptalk during, she'd chosen _that _one?

"I don't remember," Hermione answered a bit too quickly, and Bill raised his eyebrows, clearly disbelieving. Hoping to distract him, she headed to the cauldron in the corner and lifted a ladle-full into a cup. "Time for the potion, again, I think," she said, holding it out to Bill.

He grinned at her maliciously, and she knew what he was going to say before it even came out of his mouth. "Won't drink it if you don't tell me," he said, and Hermione would have been irritated if she wasn't so very distracted by the way his lips moved when he talked.

"Fine!" she snapped, shoving the potion into his hands and stalking to the other side of the room. He was unfazed by her anger, holding the potion halfway to his lips as he waited for her to speak.

"I was in Care of Magical Creatures class," Hermione said through gritted teeth. Bill took a small sip.

"Hagrid took us to the forest where some…some creatures were pinned up."

Another sip.

"They were eating a zebra, and Hagrid was teaching the class how to handle them."

Sip.

"One of them growled at me and tried to tear my face off."

She paused in her story when she noticed that Bill had stopped drinking.

"You still haven't told me what the creatures were," he pointed out, eyeing her suspiciously. Hermione felt her cheeks burn, and Bill looked thoughtful. "How about if I guess, since you're so uncomfortable telling me?"

"Alright," Hermione agreed, thinking that he'd never in a million years get it right.

"Troll?"

"No."

"Vampire?"

"No."

"Veela?"

"No."

"Crumple-horned snorkak?"

"No," Hermione said, scrunching her face in disapproval.

He met her eyes, his face serious.

"Werewolves?"

"No," she answered quickly, but the way he was looking at her made her backtrack. "Not…not exactly," Hermione conceded, trying to look away from Bill's heated gaze but not quite able to. An understanding passed between them- he knew.

Bill nodded to himself, returning to sipping the potion. "So there was more than one?"

"Yes," Hermione said a bit awkwardly. "There were at least ten in the pack."

Bill whistled quietly before taking another gulp. "And they were all naked, you say?" he prodded, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Y-y-yes," she answered, looking quite ready to sink into the floorboards.

"And you had copious amounts of sex with all of them, I understand?"

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, and she threw the ladle at Bill's head with all her strength. "I said nothing of the sort!" she cried, indignant at the throes of laughter Bill had fallen into. He squirmed around on the bed, clutching his sides as he roared with mirth. After a moment of his undignified display, Hermione couldn't help but join in as well. It _was_ a bit funny, after all, even if it was embarrassing.

For his part, Bill was still feeling warm and more than a little proud of the fact that Hermione Granger had dreamed about a whole pack of him being naked.

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_**A/N: **_Here we go= new chapter. Can't believe this reached a hundred reviews! Thanks guys; you're wonderful!


	17. Chapter 17

**_Picture In My Pocket_**

_...a chapter in which the shit hits the fan, so to speak.

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_

"I. Don't. _Fucking. _Want. To."

Bill spat out every word from between his clenched teeth with as much anger as he could muster, which was quite a bit. He had practice with being an insufferable jackass, you see. He was standing at his full and considerable height, muscles tense and bulging as he glared down at the much shorter, considerably less threatening-looking witch before him. At least, she _should _have looked less threatening.

There was something about Hermione Granger that made Bill nervous sometimes. Like right now, when anyone else would simply back down from his unbidden, lupine rage, she was glaring right back at him, hands on her hips, throwing twice as much attitude as she received.

"Well- I. Don't. _Bloody_. Care," she retorted, mocking his earlier delivery. It was amazing how quickly things had gone from laughter and sexual tension to complete shitstorm and sexual tension. Hell, even when she was standing there yelling at him like a pissed-off school teacher, Bill wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab her, shag her senseless and say to hell with the consequences. But that was just the near-full moon talking.

Probably.

"I'd like to see you fucking _try _to make me go, Granger," Bill hissed, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that he new would make his biceps bulge considerably (though whether he was doing it to be threatening or just to get her to look at his biceps, he didn't really know or care). When her eyes wavered for a second to the masses of muscle on his upper arms, he allowed his jackass-face to slip into a triumphant smirk.

He underestimated her though, because it turned out that Hermione was one of those girls that could keep a train of thought even with his muscles flexing in her face. Deciding to never argue with her again unless he was stark naked (that had gone well, in his opinion), he tried to keep his temper under control.

"_I_ don't have to make you," she said, eyes now firmly fixed on his own. Damn her self-control. "Your mother's the one who's insisting you go see the specialist."

Ah.

Dammit.

She _was_ good, wasn't she? Bill winced at the mention of his mum, who he'd still managed to avoid for the most part, thanks to Hermione's mercy.

"That's foul-play," he spat, feeling rage rush through him hotter and faster than ever. He _hated _when she played this card- it made him feel like a fucking child, and he wasn't a child. He hated that she saw him that way. "I'm a fucking thirty year old _grown man_, Granger. You can't drag my mum into this like I'm some pissy misbehaving _teenager_, for fuck's sake," he snarled, turning his back to her and pacing as far away as he could get in the small bedroom. He could barely see straight, he was so pissed. The room almost seemed tinged in red, vibrating with the heat of his sudden rage, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. It felt as if he was going to snap his own fingers in half from the force of the fists he was making.

"Then stop _acting _like one."

Before either of them could think or react or wish something had gone differently, it was done. Her body was soft and warm, almost hot, against his as he pinned her to the wall- and that, in itself, was beastly enough, invading her space without warning like a common animal, taking pleasure in the painful, near-sickening crack her skull made as he slammed her into the wall.

Bill couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around what was happening-

Her panicked, shallow breaths, tickling his ear. The feeling of her long messy curls wrapped around his fingers as he gripped her hair, too hard (it had always looked so frizzy, but her hair was quite silky to the touch). And god- what was he doing? What had he _done?_ His mouth was open against her neck, teeth pressed tight against her jugular. He could feel the rush of her blood, feel her pulse beating against his tongue.

Too stunned at his own actions to think, Bill stood, frozen. He had just attempted to tear out Hermione Granger's throat with his _fucking teeth.

* * *

_

**_A/N: _**Sooooo...that could've gone better, right? Next chapter is already mostly written. If you're also reading my other stories, here's a quick update:

**Something Like Sunlight: **Struggling, but I'm still writing it. I just don't...have...a plot...(when do I ever?)

**Taming Dragons With Bedsheets: **Oooh, Charlie. The awkward afternoon after the awkward morning is well underway, but not quite ready to be published yet. Be worried for Charlie. Very worried.

And finally, my newest baby,

**Good Friends, Bad Habits: **The only story on my account that actually had a premise and plot before I started typing it. Shame. Chapter four isn't started yet, but you better be excited for when it is. Twinstwinstwinstwinstwiiiiins.

I have a thing for twins. Weasleys, of course, but everyday, nonmagical twins(gasp) as well. It's a weakness. This author's note is getting longer than the story...On that note, thanks for the reviews! You're all wonderful!

Ah! One final thing! **_My first ever ever ever ever oneshot will be appearing soon. _**Give it love when it arrives. I'm not usually a oneshot person, because I'm not skilled enough to have coherent plots and keep to a single idea...but I tried. It'll be a Hermione/Fred. Rated M as always, dears.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Picture In My Pocket_**

_...in which someone is selfish._

* * *

Numbness would've been nice. A lot of time, in books he'd read back in the day, after someone did something particularly dreadful they felt numb. Bill would've gladly handed over his left testicle, ripped the fucking thing off with his bare hands, to feel numb.

All he felt was chaos. His stomach was all acid and bitter bile constantly rose in his throat. He couldn't stand to look at himself- his fucking hands that had nearly ripped her tangled, messy hair out, his fucking arms that had nearly crushed her, his fucking _teeth _which had nearly _killed _her.

He remembered, vividly, the feel of her pressed against him. Was it even possible that the bathroom scene had occurred in the same twenty-four hours? To the same two people?

Bill stood quickly from the uncomfortable waiting-room chair and nearly collapsed into the men's loo, trying not to feel his mother's confused, concerned gaze burning into his back. If she only knew what he'd almost done…

She wouldn't even think of him as her son anymore.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the sides of the sink, staring wide-eyed at himself in the mirror. He was having trouble seeing himself in the wild, evil thing that looked back at him. Somehow, he needed to separate the beast inside of him from the man he really was, but, looking into that mirror, he found no distinction. There was nothing behind those hollow, sunken eyes except more beast. It wasn't some nameless monster that had tried to kill Hermione Granger in his childhood bedroom- it was just him, Bill Weasley, the fucking lunatic.

He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet the eye of the monster in the mirror. He saw hatred reflected there, and it was familiar. Not comforting, but expected. Shaking his tense muscles out, he went back to the waiting-room to sit beside his mother.

"I can't believe Hermione decided not to come," Mum said after a moment or two of silence. She was busy knitting something awful- most likely Christmas mittens or some nonsense, and she didn't notice every muscle in Bill's body stiffen.

Hermione hadn't told anyone. She hadn't let him tell anyone when he'd tried. She hadn't looked at him, hadn't said a single word to him since it had happened, but she was still helping him. He couldn't fathom it, couldn't begin to understand what made her the unbelievable woman that she was, and he hated himself. She was a saint, or as close as anyone was getting this side of kicking the bucket, and he'd almost ended that.

When the monster specialist called Bill into his office, Bill had half a mind not to go. If he turned around and left now, went back to his own apartment (he could find his way, but he'd have to walk), he could have enough money to buy a bottle of whiskey and then he could go somewhere his family would never find him. It didn't sound that bad, really.

Then he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window of the specialist's office, and he realized that he couldn't do that, things weren't that simple now. If he gave up, he would've almost killed her for nothing. If he gave up, he'd be letting her down. Most importantly, if he gave up, he'd never see her again.

He was just selfish enough to stick around.

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**_A/N: _**This will be the last update for a week or so since my university's on Spring Break. On the bright side, once I get any of the four stories I'm working on now finished, there's a new one already in the works. Thanks for the reviews and everything! You're all wonderful, once again!


	19. Chapter 19

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...in which there's a talk._

* * *

A gentle knock on the door made Hermione jump and drop her book onto the wooden floor of the twins' old room. She blinked rapidly, taking in several deep breaths while trying to slow her erratic heartbeat. She was always on edge these days.

Her voice was calm when she spoke a few seconds later. "Come in."

Calm because it couldn't be _him_. _He _hadn't even been able to look at her since it happened. _He _was off in London somewhere with his mum, talking to the specialist. Hermione wasn't aware of the bed creaking and sinking an inch or so when someone plopped down beside her- she was too busy reliving those moments for the thousandth time, seeing everything as if it were happening all over again.

"Hermione, you need to come out of this room," a stern, soft voice said from her right. She started, having completely forgotten about her visitor. Harry looked like hell, but from the way his green eyes were wandering over her disapprovingly, she knew she couldn't look much better.

"I'm doing research," she said, giving herself a mental shake to get rid of her stupor. "Research for my book," she explained unnecessarily, picking up the wizarding encyclopedia from its place on the floor.

Harry was unimpressed. "You can't lock yourself off like this. It's not healthy after… so soon after the war, and all that happened. We're all worried about you, you know."

Hermione grimaced, leaning her head against Harry's shoulder. "You shouldn't have time to worry about me. Ginny's here, and I should think you'd want to spend all your time with her."

"Hermione Jean Granger!" an angry voice called from right outside the door only a second before Ginny swung herself from around the corner into the room. She looked offended, and Hermione groaned.

"Hello, Ginny," she said weakly, trying her best to smile.

"Oh, don't _hello, Ginny _me! You've barely said two words to me since I've been home and now you think Harry would've had the bollocks to confront you without me telling him to? You've gone daft, sitting in here with your books."

Hermione nearly laughed, realizing that Ginny was right. She should've known Harry wouldn't interfere of his own accord. A swell of warmth towards Ginny and her concern for her made Hermione smile, and Ginny's anger seemed to soften in response.

"I doubt it's my books," Hermione said lightly. "Probably leftover fumes from whatever the twins were working on last."

There was a brief painful silence as Hermione realized, for the hundredth time, that there was no _the twins _now. Ginny hid the pained expression on her face very well, and Harry turned his face away to the wall.

"Well, I'll just duck out then," Harry said after a moment, giving Hermione's shoulders a brief squeeze and accepting with good graces Ginny's slap on his bottom as he passed her. "You should really have dinner with the family tonight, Hermione. They're all ready to see you again."

He left, and Ginny took his vacated spot on the bed. "So what happened?" she demanded gently, wasting no time.

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione evaded, staring down at the book in her hands and flipping idly through the pages. She knew perfectly well what Ginny meant. The girl had inherited all of her powers of observation from her formidable mother.

"Don't give me that, Hermione. You and Bill were inseparable two days ago. Now you won't even sit in the same room together." Ginny's sharp eyes took in Hermione's guarded expression, and it seemed to confirm a suspicion. "He's done something. It's bad, isn't it?"

Hermione shrank away from throwing him under the bus, so to speak. "It wasn't…I mean, he didn't mean to. It was an accident, a slip."

Ginny straightened up, heartened by having guessed correctly. Then her eyes fell to Hermione's neck, and narrowed decisively. Hermione's breath caught as Ginny's hand came up to press gently but firmly right over the spot where Bill's teeth had bruised, but not torn, her flesh.

"I thought I'd hidden it," Hermione mumbled, face reddening in confusion. She covered the spot with her own hand, ignoring the throbbing of blood beneath the bruise.

"He did that," Ginny said, eyes still fixed on the spot. "How?"

Hermione shook her head. "Ginny, I don't want to talk about it. It was… it was an unfortunate accident, and there's nothing to be done about it."

"I can't believe him," was the only response she got in return.

"Don't tell anyone," Hermione ordered, knowing that no one could rein Ginny in when she made up her mind. As much as she didn't want to face Bill, she didn't want his family to know what had happened either. It wasn't his fault. He wasn't a monster; he was just a man who was struggling.

Ginny glared at Hermione for a long time. Finally, she came to a conclusion.

"I won't tell anyone if you start talking to him again," she said resolutely.

"What?"

"You heard me," Ginny said. "If it really wasn't so bad, if it was an accident, then the two of you should be able to get over it and talk again. If not, then it just proves that Bill's dangerous and he needs more help than we originally thought. It's up to you."

Hermione stared at the book in her hands, thinking hard.

"Alright, then," she said hesitantly. "Alright."

* * *

_**A/N: **So this was written in like twenty minutes. Excuse any errors. "Please excuse" sounds more polite, so pretend I wrote that. Anyway, here's a chapter, FINALLY. If you want to know what took so long, here's a rundown: laptop fire, no new laptop, account frozen, car broken into, stuff taken, and all sorts of other stupidness happening. Slowly getting over being bitter. I think I explained all of that better in the Taming Dragons A/N, but whatevs. Life goes on. _

_Thanks for all the reviews and support  
_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Picture In My Pocket**_

_...in which there's a therapist._

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Bill was sitting across from the therapist right in the middle of one of the most uncomfortable silences he'd ever been a part of in his life. Since the war, the Weasleys weren't quite as hard up for cash, but Bill still wasn't comfortable sitting in an office when each second drained galleons from his bank account. The therapist, a small man that sort of reminded him of Professor Flitwick, was watching him from the other side of the cluttered desk, chin resting on his clasped hands.

Finally, Bill got irritated enough to rise to the bait.

"Well what the hell am I here for if you aren't going to say anything?" he snapped, glaring at the small man.

Instead of immediately answering, the man grabbed his quill and scribbled on one of the fifty or so loose sheets of paper scattering his desktop. Bill didn't like that very much, but he literally bit his tongue to keep from verbally attacking the man about something so trivial. After a moment of frantic scribbling, the man leaned back, removing his thick-framed glasses from his face and staring intensely into Bill's eyes.

The wolf in Bill didn't like that much. It was a challenge, and he was in no mood to play nice. The man was already flaunting superiority- sitting in that high-backed chair, behind that huge intimidating desk with all of his certificates and awards scattered around the room. Anger boiled in Bill's stomach, turning it sour. The whole damn room was set up as a challenge to him. It was a test.

Unable to help himself, Bill stood from his seat, and the wolfblood surged with perverse joy. He was larger than the man- him _and_ his damn chair. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled his lips back from his teeth in what some people might have thought was a smile. Lucky for the man taking notes, he'd been studying werewolves his whole life. He immediately broke eye contact with Bill and kept his mouth shut tight.

"Right," he said after a moment of scribbling. "Have you been taking any sort of potion for your condition?"

"Yes," Bill snapped.

Scribble. "What potion have you been taking?"

"Don't know," Bill answered, chin thrust in the air. He was still irritated.

The therapist blinked at him for a moment before writing a few more lines. "Would the woman in the lobby that came with you know?"

"No," Bill snarled, unable to control his temper now. The man hadn't said anything offensive, but he was getting terribly close to asking about Hermione, and Bill didn't want to think about that right now.

"Who has been brewing the potion?"

"Family friend," Bill spat through his teeth.

After a few more scribbled notes, the man reached in a drawer and pulled out another notepad. He scrawled a potion recipe on it, signing the paper with a messy flourish before tearing the note off and holding it out to Bill.

"Have the family friend use this potion. It should help with some of your symptoms."

"What symptoms?" Bill growled sourly, snatching the note from the outstretched hand. The therapist raised his eyebrows as if to say, "You _really _don't know?"

"Irritability. Temper flares. Impatience. That potion should help with all of that." The man looked at him for a moment. "How have you been handling these feelings at home? Any drinking or violent outbursts?"

Bill stiffened for a moment, then stuffed the paper in his pocket and stalked out of the office. His mother was waiting in the lobby, but from the look on his face, even Mrs. Weasley knew it was best not to ask how things went. The therapist called her into the office a moment later, and Bill tensed.

The wolf, the alcoholic, and the man- none of them liked this very much.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Thanks for all the reviews and support! You're all wonderful. Should see some more Bill/Hermione interaction in the next chapter. Thanks for bearing with me!  
_


	21. Chapter 21

**_Picture In My Pocket_**

_...in which second chances are given._

* * *

"Bill, you're being stupid."

It irked him- his little sister, who used to look at him like he was Jesus Christ in the flesh- telling him that he was being _stupid._ For not-exactly-the-first-time-lately, he was struck by how much his life had changed. If only his hands would stop shaking, he might be able to think, to understand.

"You know, Ginny, I didn't ask for your opinion. Also, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then you're even stupider than I thought," she said without missing a beat. He ground his teeth together, forcing himself to think back over all the good times he'd had with his sister so he wouldn't blow up at her.

"Then enlighten me, your royal painintheass majesty. Why is it that I'm so stupid?" he asked, his voice a disconcerting mix of honey and vinegar.

Ginny rolled her eyes, putting a hand on her hip in that way she did when she felt vastly superior to whoever she was speaking to. "She wants to talk to you, you ass. She's been _trying _to talk to you since you got back from the damn therapist, but you've been too busy sticking your head up your-"

"Okay!" Bill snapped, glaring at her. "Okay, okay, okay. Got it. Hermione is willing to talk to me, I've been an idiot, I should go talk to her. I've got it. Leave me alone now, would you?"

"I most certainly will not."

"Why's that?" Bill demanded, head pounding with frustration.

"Because you're stubborn and pigheaded just like me. You'll never give her- or yourself- another chance unless I make you. So…" Ginny shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, I'm making you."

It was Bill's turn to roll his eyes. "I may not have a wand at the present, but I think I can still leave a room if I want to."

Ginny made no move to stop him as he got up to head for the door. When the knob turned easily, he grinned despite himself. She really had gone soft, hadn't she? He nearly crowed in triumph as the door swung open easily, and then-

And then he groaned, realizing he'd been stupid for thinking Ginny wouldn't have made a plan for exactly this. She'd expected it, of course.

"Hello, Hermione," Ginny said cheerfully, grinning at the girl standing warily in the doorway.

Hermione was steadfastly avoiding Bill's face, choosing to lock her eyes on Ginny instead. "I waited like you told me." Her voice was high and shaky. She was scared. Bill's inner-monologue consisted solely of words that couldn't be said on public television.

"I see that," Ginny said before hopping up from the sofa and slipping past Bill and Hermione, out of the room. She nudged the brown haired girl farther inside, pulling the door shut behind her. Hermione and Bill were silent, listening to the unmistakable sound of the door being sealed shut with magic.

Hermione stood awkwardly by the door for another moment before moving around Bill to Ginny's vacated seat. She still wasn't looking at him, but he couldn't look at anything but her face. It had been ridiculous of him to expect her to look different. It had only been a few days…

Still, the relief that flooded through his body was like the flow of Novocain through the bloodstream. She was the same. Her face, her body, her eyes were just as they'd been before. He melted onto the armchair across from her, perched on the very edge of the seat, his whole body straining towards her. He had dreaded the reunion, but now that she was here, only a few feet away, he couldn't wait for her to speak. To forgive him.

All of the self-loathing and anxiety was quiet for now- numb. He could tell that it wasn't gone completely. He could feel it like the dead weight of a sleeping limb, but he didn't care. He'd deal with it later.

After an eternity, she spoke. He fought the urge to scream with relief. It probably wouldn't help matters.

"Hello, Bill."

Pushing down the unexplainable bubbling joy in his chest, he kept his voice even.

"Hullo, Hermione."

"How was-" Her voice choked off, and she stared at her lap for a minute before trying again. "How was the therapist?"

His jaw twitched, but he knew what he needed to say. Lying wasn't a huge price to pay if it would make her more at ease. "It was really, really good. He gave me a new potion for the-the problem. Said it will help with the… side effects I've been experiencing lately."

He was very glad he had lied. Her shoulders relaxed and her eyes lifted the tiniest bit. If he could only get her to look at his face, she would understand!

"That's really great, Bill. I'm happy for you."

Bill frowned. He didn't like that at all. That was the kind of thing you said to someone you didn't plan on talking to again. He panicked, scrabbling for anything to get her to stay

"I need your help!" he nearly yelled, and she froze, muscles tensed again. Her lips tighten and he can see the reserve in her eyes.

"With what?"

"With…with…" he casted around for anything. "With the potion! I can't brew it. I'm out of practice, and it's difficult. You're the only one I can think of who could ever- who I'd ever ask."

Finally, godyesfinally, she looked up into his eyes.

He nearly exploded with joy, every cell in his body absolutely singing. He'd known it all along- when she looked at him, really looked at him, she wouldn't stand a chance. He could see it in her eyes- some weakness for him. He didn't understand it, but he'd been counting on it.

"Will you help me?" he asks. He meant to beg, but there was a hint of victory in his voice that he knew she must be able to hear.

Thankfully, she didn't comment on it. Instead she held out her hand, and he stared at it, lost.

"The potion recipe?" she prompted after it was clear he had no idea what she was asking for.

Bill's face lit up, and he began frantically digging through his pockets, searching like a madman. "Here!" he cried, thrusting the mangled scrap of paper into her hand.

Hermione looked over the instructions, eyebrows drawn together. After five minutes, she stood to leave the room, and he rose automatically, taking a step after her.

"Where are you going?"

She pursed her lips as if it was a stupid question. "To make the potion, of course."

Bill grinned, and then she left the room. Now that she was gone, his head ached so bad that he wished it would just fall off, but even that wasn't enough to completely dampen his spirits.

He had a second chance.

* * *

_**A/N: **_There we go everyone. Went back and fixed the past/present tense problem as much as I was able. Hope we're all better now.


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